


Critical Mass

by esteefee



Series: Working Stiffs [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No rest for a genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Critical Mass

**Author's Note:**

> For the sga_flashfic Continuing Education challenge.

Rodney's radio went off with a chirp and a squelch of static _just_ as he was finally falling asleep, and he rolled off his cot with a groan. He'd been up half the night doing emergency repairs on the HVAC in order to prevent a melt-down of primary systems, but apparently there was no rest at all for geniuses.

"McKay, get over here! We have a situation." Sheppard. Damn his squirrely head.

"Yes, yes. What else is new?"

"I'm serious. This is big!" And he must've been telling the truth, because as soon as Rodney came through the door he saw the paleness of John's face and the great splatters of red covering his uniform front.

"Jesus Christ, what happened?" Rodney ran over to him and grabbed his shirt, then almost pulled away in disgust at the stickiness under his palm.

John gestured wildly at the machines lined up behind the counter, narrowing a glare and jabbing at one unit in particular. It was his favorite, the one that lit up under his touch usually, Rodney knew, so he couldn't imagine why it was now burbling and burping wildly, shooting out more sploogy ropes of frozen red concoction.

"You killed the Slurpee machine? Fuck, John! All the ice cream is still half-melted from the HVAC failure last night."

"I didn't do anything!" John said sullenly, pulling away to brush a shop cloth over the sugary goo on his shirt. "Fucker just made this weird noise and then started belching goop all over me."

"Which doesn't change the fact we now have _zero_ frozen confections to serve our customers," Rodney said heatedly as he stomped over to the machine to pull the plug.

"They can eat Mallomars. In case you missed it, bright eyes, we're in the middle of winter here."

"So? People still like a good frozen dessert." Rodney tried to pull the machine away from the wall and his sneaker slipped in the red froth covering the floor. He started to go down, but John's hand gripped his arm, steadying him. "Thanks," Rodney said, less sullenly, and John gave him a pat.

"No problem." John smiled at him. "Just doin' my job, McKay." There was a trail of red syrup along the side of John's neck. Rodney gave in to temptation and leaned over to lick it off, John's stubble rasping under his tongue.

"Mmmm. Cherry."

John gave a whuff of laughter and twisted away. "Hey! We're on the clock."

"Fine," Rodney's cranky mood was back, "Go get the mop." He turned back to the Slurpee machine, which, despite being without power, gave a sinister belch and deposited a final glop of goo on the overfilled catch tray.

Seriously, maybe it was time he went back to school for that PhD.

  


 _End._

  
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/esteefee/pic/00038q32/g39)   


  


**Author's Note:**

> If you aren't familiar with them, [Mallomars](http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/08/nyregion/08cookie.html) are a seasonal cookie of excellence.


End file.
